


warm like summer

by ninata



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Despair, it's also pretty gay, just ishimaru talking about his childhood and being upset, mondo is here to be comforting and also suck at being comforting, t for language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 22:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7951390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninata/pseuds/ninata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mondo can't erase the past, but he can listen to Kiyotaka talk about it, if it helps. He can help pick up the pieces and crack jokes while Kiyotaka puts them together. It's hard, he thinks, but since when was anything easy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm like summer

Kiyotaka looks sullen. Doesn’t he always? His hands are folded in his lap, his teeth working at a layer of skin on his bottom lip. His body is in rigid angles, stiff and sharp. There is nothing soft about Kiyotaka, but perhaps that’s what Mondo loves the most.

Mondo runs circles into the back of his right hand with his left thumb. He can feel the tension between them, the silence that sucks the air out of his lungs. It takes everything he has to keep breathing. It’s like he’s under a heavy blanket, oxygen waning, hot breath stinking up his personal space. They sit close, but close isn’t close enough. If Mondo said he wanted more, what would that mean? Kiyotaka is as fragile as a wet cardboard box. If he pushes the boundaries too much, the whole thing will collapse.

“So.” Mondo’s breach of the silence is as graceful as it can be. Neither of them are particularly gentle about these things. He doubts Kiyotaka would hold him to a higher standard. “You gonna talk, then?”

He blinks hard. Mondo gets a long look at those frown lines, those deep set wrinkles that bloom from the corners of his eyes and creep out from the space between his eyebrows. He wants to work those creases out, wants to press the pads of his fingers in and smooth the skin. The worry is familiar, but he can’t help but wish there was a happier look on his face. Kiyotaka’s smile is something like a firework; something bright and beautiful that lasts for a second and then dies. He wants it, but with this kind of conversation, you can’t really expect smiles.

“...I told you,” Kiyotaka begins, weaving his fingers together in a mess of chewed-up red skin, “That I’d talk about my childhood.”

“Yeah. You sure as hell did.” Mondo pauses. Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown that curse in there. “Uh, well. I mean, I told you I’d listen, too. That’s why we’re here.”

Mondo’s dorm is empty, for the moment. His roommate won’t be back until Sunday. The two of them have it to themselves; a bed to sit on, a window with a view of the grounds of Hope’s Peak, motorcycle magazines on the floor, uniform jackets strewn around the closet, even a desk to study at, should they so wish.

“Well,” Kiyotaka bites at his lip again, and Mondo’s sure some blood’s gonna pop up any second. The guy’s got enough anxiety for a room’s worth of people. “It’s not. Er. It’s not like I was...ever hit by my father or anything.” Mondo nods. “Nor my mother. She was always too sick to do any sort of thing like that. My father...he was just busy a lot.” Mondo nods again.

“It started...in kindergarten, maybe? Probably kindergarten. I can remember having friends in preschool. Or, at least...the other children would play with me. But kindergarten...that’s when my classmates started getting…” The effort of remembering everything and finding the words seems to take away the emotional burden of speaking; Kiyotaka’s able to say them easy, his posture sagging and his expression looking less tired and more focused. “I can’t remember what came first, if it was the name-calling or classmates pushing me. They’d bump past me and knock my stuff out of my hands. If I was coloring, they’d take all my crayons. It was— calculated, almost. The way they started this assault. Kindergarteners shouldn’t be that smart. They just organized themselves against me, stealing my things and laughing when I got upset. They’d push my lunch off my desk. They’d leave me out of things. That— That was probably what hurt the most. When they’d  _ ignore  _ me. Pretend I wasn’t there, saying things like ‘Did you hear that? Was that the wind?’ and. God, it made me...it made me  _ angry,  _ Mondo. I don’t like being angry.”

It’s funny he says that. He seems like he’s angry all the time. Mondo wonders what he means.

“And that was just how it was for a long time, even in middle school. When we got new students, it’s like they were initiated. No one would talk to me like I was their equal. They argued with me in class, or shot nasty comments at me...They’d ask if my mother dropped me on the head. Or if she was dead yet. They started doing...things...to my lunches, leaving ‘presents’ in my locker. Haha, they weren’t really...violent. Just made me paranoid every time I went to get my shoes. I stopped caring after a while, I just threw myself into my schoolwork and hoped it would go away. Sometimes I’d snap at my classmates, but it was rare. It always scared me when it did happen.”

Interrupting him would be wrong, Mondo thinks. It’d make him self conscious. It’s like he’s in a daze, right now— Kiyotaka is. The words just pour out of him. Mondo won’t butt in.

“I…it made me feel so…” He swallows. “Like I was...annoying. No, more than that. Like I was less than human. That because no one ever looked at me, that no one was nice to me— there was something wrong with me. I was always going to be a burden on other people, presumptuous and selfish. It was like something was  _ making  _ them hate me— something I couldn’t see about myself, something only other people knew about. I couldn’t ever tell what it was. I thought it was that I talked too much, but then it wasn’t that! I thought it was because I loved school so much, but it wasn’t that. I thought it was because of my grandfather, but it wasn’t even that. It was just...me. Something about me was just  _ bad. _ And no matter what I did...no matter how much I tried, it wouldn’t...I was still...”

A sharp inhale. Kiyotaka kneads his hands, pressing his lips into a tight line.

“When my parents found out about it, my father had a long talk with my teachers. I was  _ terrified.  _ When they finally asked me, I said it was fine, and no one ever pressed charges. I couldn’t...I just felt like it was my own fault, somehow. And I was at the top of my class, so what was the point? My grades certainly weren’t dropping. Neither was my attendance.

“So what if I was suffering? So what if I couldn’t sleep? So  _ what  _ if it was driving me crazy? I was still doing well in school, so it didn’t matter. Even if they made fun of me, laughed at me behind their hands, looked at me the way they did— so what? It doesn’t matter. If I talked, I was overbearing and loud. If I didn’t, I was a snob and a hardass. I was always too much, always a handful and something no one wanted to deal with. I can’t even say they hated me. If they hated me, they’d punch me or spit on me. They couldn’t be bothered to do that to someone like me. I was  _ nothing  _ to them. No matter how hard I tried...it would never mean anything to them.”

His lip twitches, and Mondo feels as though he’s been trusted with something incredibly precious. He reaches out and puts a hand over both of Kiyotaka’s.

“Oh.” Kiyotaka says quietly. His eyebrows knit together again, and he looks at Mondo like he doesn’t understand. Mondo turns his head away, pursing his lips as he tries to come up with a sentence that sounds good enough.

“You’re not nothin’. I don’t think you’re annoyin’, either.” Mondo says, and Kiyotaka tenses a little bit. “I think it’s fun how energetic you are. ‘N like, when you talk a lot...I think that’s cool. You’re a cool guy, Kiyotaka.”

Kiyotaka looks back down.

“...Thank you,” He sounds cautious. Stilted. Mondo gets that, and he’s okay with it. You can’t expect a few words to change something like that so fast.

“I love bein’ your friend,” Mondo says, and he really means it. He squeezes Kiyotaka’s hands. “I love  _ you,  _ dude.”

This seems to touch him, and tears form in his eyes. “Mondo…”

“I-I mean,” Mondo says hastily, wishing he had phrased that in a way that wasn’t so revealing. “Y’know. In a bro way. Of course.”

“I love you too,” Kiyotaka says anyway. His face scrunches all together, tears leaking. His hands take Mondo’s in them, gripping it tightly. “You’re too kind.”

“Oh, please.”

“I mean it! You’ve always got something nice to say to me! You’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met!”

Mondo scratches his cheek with his free hand. “You just make me wanna say nice things, I guess.”

“I’m so glad I know you.” Kiyotaka says, and he pulls one of his hands away to wipe at his face. “Thank you for listening to me, bro.”

Mondo looks back at him. He’s afraid of loving him, he’s afraid of what it means when he reaches out and wipes a tear off of Kiyotaka’s cheek. He’s afraid of what it means when Kiyotaka’s hand rests over his, and he smiles like that, so  _ tenderly, _ like a sunflower tilting itself towards the sun. Mondo is painfully aware of his heartbeat, how it drums in his ears and goes in spurts through his veins. 

Kiyotaka’s the kind one, the one who’s so sweet it makes Mondo feel like he’s taking advantage of him by just letting him hold a door open. He’s always been so kind, it drives Mondo insane.

Kiyotaka makes Mondo feel like he’s okay to be himself, that there’s no expectation of strength or manliness or promises written in blood. Kiyotaka brings something out in Mondo that Mondo forgot he was sitting on, locked away so deep that even his closest friends from his gang didn’t see it. Kiyotaka makes it all so simple, how he leans in and rests his forehead against Mondo’s shoulder, how his shoulders slouch to allow the movement. Mondo wonders if it’s worth even saying it at this point; with the way Kiyotaka’s body moves, how it touches his, it’s like he  _ knows _ . It’s like he’s always known, yet he still tiptoes, he still acts like at the slightest inclination Mondo will tear himself away and write him out of his life.

Mondo wraps his arms around him, holding him close, one hand on Kiyotaka’s shoulder and the other in his hair. Kiyotaka’s frame heaves with a sob. This is all he needs, having him in his arms and being able to dry his all too frequent tears. He never expected to fall so hard for him, the asshole hall monitor that used to piss him off more than anything. Hate gives so easily into love. Despite what he may think about himself, Kiyotaka was irresistible to Mondo.

The sun sets outside. Mondo thinks of the rioting that’s been happening out beyond the walls of Hope’s Peak. He thinks of Kiyotaka, unwavering, a person that’s stronger than Mondo could ever be. He wants good things for the world. When no one’s ever been kind to him, Kiyotaka wanted to help other people.

What they had— love, friendship or whatever— it was good. It was  _ great. _ It was something Mondo was unfamiliar with, this level of intimacy. He even kept his closest friends at a distance. If he wanted more, would that be terrible? Would it scare Kiyotaka away?

Mondo holds him tighter, because in spite of everything, he’s scared. He’s scared of uncertainty, he’s scared of Kiyotaka saying no and Kiyotaka saying yes. Mondo’s never been this smitten before, nor has he been this serious about it. He doesn’t even know where to begin. What words to say, what to do, whether he’s supposed to toss chocolates to him on Valentine’s Day or throw out some pick-up lines in hopes he won’t just look at him weirdly.

For now, he just holds him, rubbing his back. The closer he gets to a relationship, the less capable he feels. There’s something about it that’s terrifying— having to be strong for the other person, having to take the first step and having to be in charge of the pace. Even thinking about  _ kissing  _ Kiyotaka makes him feel like he’s going to hurl. Mondo thinks of pushing Kiyotaka, of saying ‘hey, let’s do this now’ and making those decisions for him— it feels wrong. Mondo’s been in charge his whole life, leader of an almost business-grade gang of bikers, he’s so used to ordering people around and shoving people into place. It’s second nature. It’s all he’s ever been, unable to make mistakes, under enough pressure to turn him into a diamond. But then he thinks of the face Kiyotaka would make, words dying in his throat— would he be scared of Mondo? That makes his heart sink. He thinks of Kiyotaka, expectant, waiting for Mondo to take control; first of all, since when was Kiyotaka Ishimaru the type to let someone else take charge, and second of all, why does the idea of his best friend expecting things out of him make him feel so goddamn sick? (He knows why. He thinks of an entire army of teenage boys behind him, looking up to him, thinking things of him, wanting him to be strong. He thinks of the lies he’s told, he thinks of the weight of their expectations, he thinks of his brother’s last words and he can’t possibly deny how much that all  _ stings— _ )

“I just—” Kiyotaka mutters against Mondo’s shirt. “I just wish they’d stop  _ punishing  _ me. Why is it so fun to watch me get upset? Why is it so fun to push my buttons? Why is it so fun for me to cry? Why do they  _ like _ it so much? I get it! I’m obnoxious and terrible! I’m, I’m selfish, and cruel, and nobody wants to be my friend. I get it. I should be punished for that. I’m only good for schoolwork. They want me to get hurt and then they want me to stop existing. I’m nothing to them.  _ God, _ sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m  _ human.  _ Like there’s— there’s got to be something  _ wrong _ with me, some kind of mark on me that people see and they think, ‘Ah! Yes! This one! We have to torture him!’ It’s so, so, hard,” He’s choking on his breath, coughing up sobs. “I can’t keep this up forever. I feel like the only way to get them to stop is to just  _ die. _ ”

Apparently while Mondo was busy brooding, Kiyotaka had broken down further. Great, Mondo’s being insensitive. He runs his hand back through Kiyotaka’s short hair. Here was Mondo just thinking about how much he loves the guy (among other things) and Kiyotaka still thinks there’s nothing lovable about him at all. What do you say to that, really? How are you supposed to dismantle something that someone’s entire life is built around?

“If you die, I’d get pretty damn lonely pretty fast.” Mondo tries to say it quietly, casually. It leaves him in a breath. The urge to be closer explodes in his chest, his heart hammering,  _ man _ he hopes Kiyotaka can’t feel it. “You really wanna make me lonely? Is that it?”

“N-No, I—” His voice quivers before he makes a gross snorting noise. Mondo’s shoulder feels wet. “I just— what do I  _ do? _ Everyone wants me to fail. Everyone wants me to suffer. It hurts. It  _ hurts _ .”

“I don’t want you to.” Mondo brushes a hand through his hair again. “To fail, yeah? I don’t want that. I really think you’re somethin’ special, bro. Someone who’s got a lotta potential and someone who didn’t deserve the shit that happened to ‘em. I can’t go back and fix that stuff, but I can tell you right here ‘n now that you make me real happy. I love talkin’ with you, ‘n studyin’ with you, ‘n all the dumb shit we get up to. Nobody ever would give me the time of day like that, me bein’ all angry ‘n shit, they’d just get tired of it ‘n give up. You’re like, uh...I’unno. You say so much nice stuff t’me, you get all excited ‘n smile, ‘n like…you’re just good.” Mondo had forgotten how bad with words he was. So much for giving some cool speech to cheer Kiyotaka up. 

Kiyotaka tilts his head up, peering up at him from the fabric of his shirt. He looks a little like a shelter dog, unused to kindness, ears pinned back and tiptoeing closer to snatch the treat from your hand and then scamper off.

“Sure, you can be a real dick, but everyone else loves ya, too. After all, I mean...where would we be without our class rep?”

Kiyotaka looks back down, his cheek squishing against his shoulder.  _ Cute.  _ Mondo can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe they’re just too close. Maybe Mondo needs to rein it in a bit better.

“I...Am I only important, then, because of what I do? Because of how much I give to others?”

Mondo’s struck speechless. He didn’t mean for it to sound that way. He struggles to piece together a good enough sentence. “No! No, not like that, uh. We love you 'cause you’re funny, especially when you ain’t tryin’a be. You have a nice face, ‘n you get to be a real smartass, ‘n you...I dunno, man! You don’t need a reason for us to care, right? We just care 'cause you’re Kiyotaka. Not ‘cause you do class rep stuff. Not just ‘cause you’re nice to me. I lo...care about you ‘cause you’ve got a sweet smile, ‘n you never take bullshit, you just. Are you! Yeah? You do your stuff, you get happy or sad or angry, and I. I just love...love...watching you do your thing. You’re important 'cause you’re you. You’re important 'cause you exist, not 'cause you gotta do whatever or be somethin’. You could be a reserve course student with tons of money, or like, some world class golfer, I dunno. As long as you’re Kiyotaka, I’d still care about you a lot. I don’t need you to do stuff for me. That’s cool ‘n all, but I care about you even when you yell at me, ‘n tell me to stop sneakin’ kitkats into class. Which, by the way, is still bullshit,” It’s at this point Mondo notices Kiyotaka’s smiling, that smile that almost doesn’t fit on his face. His lips part for a laugh at Mondo’s last statement, and Mondo’s stomach flips, and his ribs all hook together, pulling towards the center of his chest. It’s not fair, how handsome he is. Mondo licks his lips. “I-I just. Care. Okay? I care a lot. I wouldn’t bullshit you. You make me pretty damn happy by just bein’ around, ‘n I love...y-you.” An image of sealing the statement with a kiss pops into Mondo’s mind, and he can feel the blood rush to his face. No, no. He’s not doing that.

“I love you too!” He says immediately, and Mondo kicks himself.  _ Not that way,  _ he thinks, but it’s still something to gush about later. ( _ Love count: two.) _ “I’m sorry about all this. I shouldn’t complain so much.”

“Bro, complain all you want. I don’t mind listenin’ at all.”

“Really?” Kiyotaka asks.

“Really.” Mondo ruffles his hair one more time. Kiyotaka shuts his eyes. His eyelashes look so smooth, the frown lines disappearing for a moment.

Mondo holds him for a little longer. If it’s weird to hold your best friend after he cries, well, fuck off. He traces little circles on Kiyotaka’s scalp. A heart, dare he do it, but the shape isn’t too far off from a circle to really be noticed. A star.

“...What are you doing?” Kiyotaka finally asks, as Mondo writes his name on the crown of Kiyotaka’s head in full kanji.

“Uhhh, nothin’? Comfortin’ you, really.”

“Are you writing things?”

“Yyyyes? Maybe.”

“Mondo.” He turns his head back up at Mondo to glare at him, but once their eyes meet his face changes. In fact, he makes an ugly snorting noise, and he starts puffing on Mondo’s chest in an attempt not to laugh.

“Wha— The hell?! Why are you laughin’?!”

“Your face is bright red!” Kiyotaka says, pounding his fist on Mondo’s chest. “You look like a hot springs monkey!”

“Okay,  _ fuck  _ you, you little—” He smashes his palms into Kiyotaka’s scalp, rubbing it with enough friction to catch Kiyotaka’s hair on fire. Kiyotaka is still alight with laughter, eyes shut tightly. Like a burst of color in a dark sky, his smile ignites something inside Mondo, something tender and warm, like summer. Mondo wants to kiss him, but he knows that’s a shitty idea, that he couldn’t force his face forward if he wanted to, that Kiyotaka is too dear of a friend to risk scaring off.

But God, does he love him.

**Author's Note:**

> this is looong overdue but if you thought i was done writing ishimondo....you were sadly mistaken sorry i'm still clogging the tag with my bullshit. in the end i always come back to these two... betad by my good friendo sink and shaqfu!


End file.
